


Ours To Take

by simeysgirl



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-12
Updated: 2014-05-12
Packaged: 2018-01-24 12:57:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1605995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/simeysgirl/pseuds/simeysgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry spends his days working with Malfoy and his nights with Draco. Confused? Not as confused as Harry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ours To Take

**Author's Note:**

> This was my glomp for [](http://bellaindia.livejournal.com/profile)[**bellaindia**](http://bellaindia.livejournal.com/) for the [](http://serpentinelion.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://serpentinelion.livejournal.com/)**serpentinelion** 's Glompfest 2013. I hadn't realised I'd forgotten to post it here!

**Title:** Ours To Take  
 **Pairing(s):** Harry/Draco, Ron/Hermione  
 **Summary:** Harry spends his days working with Malfoy and his nights with Draco. Confused? Not as confused as Harry.  
 **Rating:** R  
 **Disclaimer:** All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended.  
 **Warning(s):** None  
 **Epilogue compliant?** LOL, no.  
 **Word Count:** 8500  
 **Author's/Artist's Notes:** This was my glomp for [](http://bellaindia.livejournal.com/profile)[**bellaindia**](http://bellaindia.livejournal.com/) for the [](http://serpentinelion.livejournal.com/profile)[**serpentinelion**](http://serpentinelion.livejournal.com/)'s Glompfest 2013. I hadn't realised I'd forgotten to post it here!

For Harry, it was difficult working with Malfoy, day in, day out. It wasn't because he was holding onto a lingering dislike for the man. No, that had gone away within weeks of them being partnered up. Working together in the small ward, they'd had to put their past behind them, and it hadn't been long until they were friends.

A chat over lunch easily turned into a few drinks after work and eventually turned into a regular night out with their extended group of friends. Harry definitely counted his fellow Healer as one of his closest friends. A friend he still called by his surname, but a friend nonetheless.

No, the reason it was so hard to work with Malfoy was the simple fact that Harry spent all day fantasising and reminiscing about what they had got up to in bed the night before, and Malfoy didn't know anything about it.

Now, Harry wasn't drugging Malfoy and assaulting him in his sleep. No, Harry spent his days working at the hospital with _Malfoy_ , and his nights having mind-blowing sex with _Draco_. Harry wasn't crazy; he was sure of that. He surreptitiously had himself tested not long after his first meeting with Draco.

It was a fact, tested and proved beyond a doubt. Harry had fallen in love with one of his best friends, only he was the only one that knew about it. You see, Malfoy wasn't Draco, at least not yet.

Draco was from the future.

~

It had been the most ordinary of days when it happened. Harry had got up at half past six, had some tea and cornflakes, had a quick bath and thrown some clothes on. Work had been the same as ever. The hospital chit chat was banal as usual and the paperwork was abundant and tedious. He'd met Ron for lunch like he'd done almost daily since he'd started work at St. Mungo's. He'd had fish and chips, the same as every Friday. Back in the ward, Malfoy had good naturedly ribbed him about his ketchup stain on his tie.

It had been a Friday just as normal as any other Friday in his life. Well, until he'd got back home, that was.

Harry was just trying to decide on which shirt to wear to the pub when he heard the crash. His immediate thought was that Brewin had got into the crockery cupboard again, but a meow from the bed behind him had him reaching for his wand and running downstairs.

If Harry had had to guess who it could have been crashing about, Malfoy would have been right at the bottom of the list. But there he was, sitting at Harry's kitchen table, drinking Harry's tea and, worse of all, eating Harry's Rich Tea biscuits. He'd been bloody saving them!

“Hello, Harry.”

Harry nearly fell to the floor in shock, which was threefold.

One, Malfoy was in his house. As close as they'd become, Harry had never felt the need to invite Malfoy in for a cuppa. They usually just met at the pub.

Two, Malfoy had called him Harry. They had both tried out using first names, but both agreed that it didn't work. They were Malfoy and Potter, always had been and always would be.

Three, and this was the big one to Harry, was how Malfoy looked. Harry wasn't blind; he knew Malfoy was attractive. Harry had caught himself staring at him on more than a couple of occasions and he wasn't afraid, to himself at least, to admit it. He'd only seen Malfoy an hour ago, and Harry couldn't believe the difference. For one, he was wearing casual clothes, something that Malfoy swore he'd never be seen dead in. And then there was the other thing, the thing that made Harry's mouth water, something he'd never thought he had a fancy for before.

“Where'd you get the glasses?”

“I've had them ages,” Malfoy said, reaching for another Rich Tea. “Do you like them?”

“Yeah, um, yes. They're very nice. What are you doing here? How did you get in here? I thought we were meeting at the pub? And leave me some biscuits, please.”

“Sorry,” Malfoy said, replacing the lid on the biscuit barrel. “Didn't realise I'd eaten so many. Nervous habit? Sit down, please; we have to talk.”

Harry immediately sat down opposite him. No good ever followed the words 'we have to talk' and he was sure he'd need to sit down to hear it. “What's the matter? Who's ill? Or dead? Oh, Merlin, someone's dead. Who is it? Is it Ron?”

Malfoy laughed. _Laughed._ Harry, for the first time in years, wanted to punch him.

“Harry, relax!” Malfoy reached over and took Harry's hand in his own. “No one is hurt or anything. This is definitely not going the way I thought it would. Although, I don't know how I thought it would go like, to be honest.”

“Malfoy, speak sense or I'm going to the pub without you. What are you doing here?”

“Harry, look at me. I'm not _your_ Draco Malfoy.”

Harry jumped up and drew his wand quickly. Polyjuice! Someone bloody polyjuiced themselves as his friend and broke into his house and he just sat there worrying about his biscuits? What the hell kind of wizard was he? Oh, Malfoy was going to take the piss out of him for this.

“NO!” Not-Malfoy shouted, holding his hands up in surrender. “I _am_ Draco Malfoy. I can prove it; please, put the wand down. I shouldn't have just come out with it like that. I'm sorry.”

Harry didn't lower his wand. “Prove it? Okay, what was the last thing you said to me today?”

“I don't even know what today is! Ask me something else, anything else, please.”

“When's my birthday?”

“Are you serious? Every wizard in the country knows when your birthday is.”

Harry blushed. He could be so stupid at times. He searched for something else to ask, but Malfoy laughed suddenly, interrupting his train of thought.

“Although not many of them know that you once spent it handcuffed to a bed in a dingy flat in London after a date with a Muggle went awry. I had weeks of jokes out of that one.”

“Malfoy!” Harry cried in dismay. “We agreed you'd never mention that again, and I wouldn't ask about that bloke with the—”

“Right you are; sorry.” Malfoy cleared his throat. “So you now know I'm me; can you lower your wand so I can start again?”

Harry slumped back into his chair, reaching for the biscuits. “Go ahead,” he said, still red-cheeked.

“I'm trying to find a way to say this without freaking you out.”

Harry scoffed. “Bit late for that.”

“Yes, well.”

“Just say it; whatever it is.” Harry bit into a Rich Tea, starting to feel a little annoyed at his friend.

“Okay. Here goes. I'm from the future.”

Harry laughed, showering the table with biscuit crumbs. “Sorry,” he said, brushing them up. “And very funny. Come on, Malfoy. We have to meet the others at the pub.”

“Really, I am. And no, we don't. I sent owls out, saying that you were feeling tired and wouldn't be making it to the pub. I thought we could stay in and talk. I need to make you realise that I'm telling the truth.”

“What? _What?_ ”

“Which part?”

“All of it! What the fuck are you talking about? The future? And what do you mean, you sent owls?”

“I know how to forge a letter; I just thought you'd want to stay and talk. Ah, here are some replies, I think.”

Harry stood up and let the two owls in, instantly recognising Hermione's tawny and, to his great surprise, Malfoy's own eagle. “What?” he asked again, ripping open the notes.

Hermione's was what he would expect: condolences and a note to make sure he was taking care of himself. Malfoy's was a simple note, obviously written quickly on the back of what looked exactly like a note in Harry's own handwriting.

_Getting too old for it, is that it, Potter? Hope it's nothing contagious! See you in work on Monday. DM_

“What are you playing at?” Harry asked, throwing the note at Malfoy.

“I didn't write it. Well, I did. But a long time ago. Sit down,” he said, pulling a bottle of wine out of his bag. “I'll crack this open and I'll tell you all about it.”

Harry gratefully accepted the glass offered to him and sat back to listen to Malfoy talk. If nothing else, it was a bloody good wine.

And Malfoy talked. For hours. He talked about potions and spells and research. He detailed exactly how he'd managed to 'come back from the future'. He talked about how it was a recent—for him—development, and he'd been the one who offered to test it. Malfoy talked about how it was going to be used to look into people's histories and see what was making them sick, or which spell they used.

The bottle of wine—and another one from the wine rack—disappeared as Harry listened to Malfoy explain, but he wasn't really _listening_. He didn't give two fucks _how_ Malfoy was sitting in front of him. What Harry wanted to know was _why_. Harry seized his opportunity when Malfoy paused to open another bottle to get a word in.

“Now, I'm not saying that I believe you—”

“Harry, look at me. Really look at me. Does the me you saw earlier today look like the me sat here?”

Harry squinted as he tried to work out what Malfoy was saying. There were definitely too many 'me's in that sentence. He stared at Malfoy, taking in his clothes, his glasses, the small changes in his face which told him that the man was slightly different to his friend.

“No,” Harry finally said. “You're....different. But that's not the point. Even if I did believe you, why? Why are you here?”

“Because of the tests; were you even listening?”

“No.” Harry shook his head, trying to clear it. “Why are you here with _me_? Why did you come _here_?”

Malfoy unexpectedly blushed. “I, um, I saw an opportunity.”

“For what?”

“I'll show you,” Malfoy said, slowly getting to his feet and sliding around the table.

“Show me what?”

“Shut up,” Malfoy said, before leaning down to kiss him gently.

“Hey!” Harry jumped backwards. Every cell in his body was telling him to shut the fuck up and carry on, but Harry steadfastly moved away. “What are you doing? You make all of this up, just to kiss me? You could've just _asked_.”

“No! _Really?_ No! I didn't make it up. I promise. I just knew what a stubborn bastard I was and I didn't want to waste a moment. I know I like you and I'd hoped you liked me, but I didn't want to ruin our friendship by saying something so I left it. And then, things happened and it was too late, and I thought...”

“What things? No, I don't want to know because this isn't fucking real. I'm going to wake up in the morning and this is all going to have been a dream. Maybe I _am_ ill and hallucinating or something.” Harry held his hand to his head to check his own temperature. “Do I feel hot? Do I look clammy? Bloody hell, now I'm asking my hallucination to diagnose my hallucinations.”

Malfoy grabbed Harry and kissed him again. Hard. “Does that feel like a bloody hallucination to you?”

Harry swayed on his feet. “No. But I think I'm drunk.”

“Can't argue with that,” Malfoy said.

Harry turned on the spot. “I'm going to bed,” he said, deciding that, in his professional opinion, sleep would fix it all.

~

Harry woke up the next morning with a fuzzy mouth, a pounding head and the nagging thought that something weird had happened the night before. It took him a minute to remember that his hangover wasn't from a night out down the pub, but rather from Malfoy's unannounced turning up with wine. Bastard. He knew damn well that Harry and wine didn't mix well.

Flopping back down onto the pillow, Harry had flashes of what had actually occurred the previous night. Had Malfoy really claimed to have come from the future? And, Harry thought with a stomach-dropping feeling that had nothing to do with his hangover, had they actually _kissed_?

Harry didn't know if it was with hope or dread that he reached a hand across the bed to see if he had slept alone, but he knew he felt stupid when his hand only met cold, unruffled, obviously not-slept-in sheets.

After a soak in the bath and more tea than he'd thought it possible to drink, Harry couldn't take it any more and called for his owl. He needed to find out what the fuck had actually happened and there was only one way to do that. He needed to talk to Malfoy.

Not wanting to sound like a crazy person, Harry thought long and hard over what to write.

_Malfoy,_  
What the fuck?  
HP 

_Malfoy,_  
Were you in my house kissing me last night?  
What the fuck?  
HP 

_Malfoy,_  
Did you come to my house claiming to be the future so you could kiss me last night?  
What the fuck?  
HP 

_Malfoy,_  
Did you have a good night down the pub? I'm sorry I missed it. Are you free for lunch? I could do with a chat.  
HP 

Malfoy's reply came before Harry had even had time to boil the kettle again.

_Potter,_  
I didn't end up going out. You cancelled and then Ron and Hermione cancelled, which made Pansy cancel and then I just couldn't be arsed. Had a rousing game of cards with Mother instead. Don't cancel again.  
Lunch? When did you turn into a middle aged woman?  
In any case, I can't make it. Mother has us visiting some old relatives in Wales.  
See you on Monday.  
DM 

That was that, then, Harry thought. Malfoy sounded normal enough. Maybe his wine had been off and he'd imagined the whole thing. Deciding to put it to the back of his mind—not before making a mental note about getting himself checked out in work on Monday—Harry wrote a quick note to Ron and Hermione. They wouldn't laugh at his lunch invitation.

~

Harry enjoyed his lunch at Ron and Hermione's. Ginny and Neville popped in as well, and it turned into a nice, pleasant afternoon, with no—or very little—thoughts of Malfoy or his future self. Hermione explained—after berating Harry about running himself into the ground—that she was grateful that he had cried off the night before as it gave her the chance on catching up on some paperwork. Ron had blushed at this, and Harry had the distinct—and very much unwanted—thought that her idea of paperwork was much, _much_ , different than his.

At Ron's urging, Harry had joined them all in the pub for a couple of beers in the sunshine. It was the last thing he'd needed. Three beers in, and Harry had had to stumble home, cuddle up to Brewin on the sofa and go to sleep.

Harry thought he'd only been asleep for five minutes, when he was awoken by the unmistakeable sound of his kettle boiling and his bloody biscuit tin being raided. A quick glance at the clock showed that he'd actually been asleep for close to two hours, and Brewin was no longer snuggled on his lap.

No, Brewin was soon found to be cuddled on the lap of the person once again drinking his tea and eating his biscuits. Draco bloody Malfoy.

“Hello, Harry. How's the head?”

~

Harry woke up on Sunday morning with another pounding head and a need to know what the fuck was going on with Malfoy. They'd spent the night, again, drinking wine and talking. Malfoy, thankfully, bypassed the ins and outs of how he'd travelled in time, and instead had focussed on the major points of trying to get Harry into bed. It was exhausting.

Now, if _Malfoy_ Malfoy had come to his door begging Harry to sleep with him, Harry might've obliged. Of course, he'd thought—fantasised—about it, but when _Not-Malfoy_ Malfoy was going on about future selves and whatnot, Harry had second thoughts. It was as if he was taking advantage of a person under the influence. It wasn't right.

So instead they talked. Harry thought he knew Malfoy. He'd been friends with him for months. They worked together every single day. But the Malfoy who suddenly appeared in his kitchen at night was different. He opened up. He told Harry his innermost hopes and dreams. He told Harry things that Harry had only wished to know. Harry learnt about Malfoy's relationship with his mum. He learnt _why_ Malfoy had decided to become a Healer.

When he finally stumbled to bed that night, Harry was dithering on whether Malfoy was actually telling the truth. Harry blamed the wine.

~

For the first time since he'd started work at the hospital, Harry was nervous about going into work on Monday morning. The rest of his weekend had passed without incident. He'd had a lovely day at Molly and Arthur's on Sunday with the rest of the family, having one of Molly's huge Sunday dinners. She'd quizzed him, as she did every week, on when he was going to find himself a 'young man and settle down'. Molly assured him, as she did every week, that if Ginny could do it, so could he.

Harry fully expected to walk into his house afterwards to see Malfoy sitting at the kitchen table, eating his biscuits. He was very surprised to find himself feeling disappointed upon seeing only Brewin waiting for him.

After tossing and turning all night, trying to figure everything out, Harry decided it was probably best if he went into work early and quickly ran some tests before his shift started. Before he started accusing Malfoy—or showing himself up, more likely—he needed to make sure that he wasn't _actually_ crazy.

Harry smiled at the receptionist as he walked in, ignoring her look of confusion and the over-dramatic looking at her watch, and made his way to the lab. He needed quiet—and definitely didn't want anybody disturbing him—and the lab was the best place to be for that. Malfoy wouldn't be in for another hour, and the assistants knew never to enter the lab without his or Malfoy's express admittance.

Grabbing what he needed quickly, Harry carefully drew some blood and started some of the more _invasive_ tests running.

Drug tests: negative. So he wasn't drugged with an hallucinogen. Great; he was glad he wouldn't have to call the Aurors in. Ron would've had a field day with that.

WIMP test: negative. No wizarding infections of his mental processes. Brilliant news. WIMPs were hard to get rid of and would've kept him in the hospital for weeks.

SAC test: negative. No spells or charms had been performed on him. Which was always nice to know.

Harry didn't know whether to be relieved or worried that the three most common causes of 'episodes' had been ruled out. Running every test on himself that he could think of, Harry had only one diagnosis: he was the healthiest person he knew. No infections, his brain was working normally, he hadn't had any magic performed on him. Nothing.

The only thing left to do was to face Malfoy. Quite frankly, Harry thought, he'd have preferred his WIMP test coming back positive.

~

“Morning, Potter!” Malfoy cheerfully called as he barged into the lab as he did every morning, the door slamming into the wall behind him. “Are you feeling better?”

“Better?”

“Friday? You didn't make it to the pub? You resigned me to a night entertaining my bloody mother? I thought you were ill?”

Harry didn't know quite what to say. Malfoy seemed to be acting as if nothing had happened. “So, um, you, um, you haven't see me all weekend? And where are your glasses?”

“Glasses? What the bloody fuck are you going on about? Last time I saw you—with my perfect eyesight, thank you very much—you were going home to change your ketchup stained clothes before we went to the bloody pub. Have I missed something?”

Harry stood agog as Malfoy walked up to him and held the back of his hand to Harry's forehead.

“Are you still sick? I thought you were just having a night in to have a wank or something. Shit, are you actually ill? Sit down; I'll run some tests.”

Harry shook his head. “No need,” he said, gesturing to his test results on the counter.

“You ran a WIMP? Why?”

“I just thought... Are you sure you haven't seen me all weekend?”

“I've been in Wales with Mother and Great Aunt bloody Gwendolene. Potter,” Malfoy said as he studied Harry's results. “Are you sure you're not ill?”

“No, I'm not sick,” Harry said. “Of course not. See, healthy as anything. Just must've had too much to drink at the weekend. You know me and wine.”

“Don't I just. Well, if you've stopped acting crazy, shall we go and heal some hapless wizards and witches of their ailments?”

Harry nodded and grabbed his robes. He didn't know what the hell was going on, and something told him he didn't want to know.

~

Harry decided to walk home from the hospital. Leaving Malfoy at the fireplaces, Harry stepped out into the cool early-evening air. He needed to clear his head.

Malfoy had acted normally all day. They'd worked side-by-side, doing what they did best and it was perfectly _normal_. Harry was completely sure that Malfoy hadn't been with him all weekend, which threw up one big question. Exactly who the bloody fuck had been eating all his biscuits?

By the time Harry arrived home, he was in two minds. One was that he had actually drunk too much and imagined everything, and the other was that Draco Malfoy from the future had actually tried to get him into bed.

Harry carefully opened his front door and sighed in relief when Homenum Revelio revealed him to be alone. Not completely alone, a small mewing at his feet reminded him.

“Two minutes, Brewster,” Harry told the cat, crouching to give his fur a ruffle. “Let me get changed and I'll get you some food.”

Quickly changing out of his Healer's robes—horrible, itchy things that they were—Harry threw some jeans and a t shirt on and went to give Brewin some food.

“Hi, Harry. Miss me?”

Harry nearly fainted right there in his kitchen doorway. He closed his eyes tight and shook his head. Opening one eye, he saw that he wasn't imagining it. Malfoy was once again sitting at his table, wearing his glasses, petting a very content looking Brewin—traitorous little bugger—and, for fuck's sake, eating his way through Harry's biscuit tin.

“Don't you have biscuits at your own house?”

“Not Muggle ones, and definitely not like this. Look, they have their names written on them. That's brilliant. Only you would chuck them all in the same tin. The Bourbons give the digestives a nice chocolate-y taint. You should market this, seriously.”

Harry reached into the cupboard and grabbed a packet of chocolate digestives. The resulting look of wonder on Malfoy's face almost made Harry forget that he was supposed to be bloody angry.

“Chocolate digestives,” Malfoy read off the packet before ripping it open. “Genius.”

“Malfoy—”

“Draco.”

“What?”

“I would like you to call me Draco. I know we tried it before and it didn't work, but it's different now. I call you Harry; why can't you call me Draco? And it would help you distinguish between the two of us.”

“Two of, oh, shit. Are you still on this future thing? And I didn't know you were such a good actor. Good job today; I almost believed you spent the weekend in Wales.”

“Wales? Oh, I went to Wales. Good old Aunt Gwendolene. Wasn't actually my Aunt, you know? Mother's Godmother. Never met a bit of lavender she couldn't stuff somewhere in the house. Bloody stunk. And I probably did go to Wales. Mother did always like to drag me with her after Father died. But _I_ spent the weekend with you, of course.”

“I need a drink.”

“Oh no you don't. I need you to know this is real. And that involves you being in full charge of your mental faculties, all right? Tea?”

By the end of the night, Harry was, and he couldn't even blame alcohol, starting to believe Draco. He'd even started calling him by his given name. Harry couldn't help it, not with the bloody git correcting him every time he said Malfoy.

Draco seemed to have an answer for everything. Harry didn't fully understand the intricacies of time travel, and Draco had tried patiently to explain all the hows and whys and what fors. If nothing else, he was certain that it wasn't the same Draco Malfoy sat on his sofa that he'd worked with all day.

Draco wouldn't divulge anything from the future—consequences, he kept saying—but he did answer Harry's question of where he went when he wasn't with him. It was simple, Draco said. He had to go back home to go to work. Draco definitely wouldn't tell Harry anything about the Harry from the future, but he had had a sad look on his face when Harry had asked him, and Harry was too scared of the answer to push Draco on it.

~

And so it continued. Harry's days were spent working with Malfoy as usual, and most of his nights were spent with Draco. As Harry started to get closer to Draco, he found himself becoming closer friends with Malfoy. Harry found himself asking more questions about Malfoy's personal life—even though he knew the answers—and enjoying listening to Malfoy talk about his family and childhood.

It was the new found closeness—the closer relationship he shared with Malfoy since Draco had arrived—that stopped Harry from telling Draco to bugger off and asking Malfoy out. He had always thought that one day, he'd bite the bullet and risk asking Malfoy out. But this way, Harry was risking nothing. He was finding out how great it was being in a relationship with Draco without losing his friendship. It might be selfish, but Harry didn't think of it—didn't _want_ to think of it—in that way. To him, no one was getting hurt, so he continued living both lives.

Despite this, it was weeks before he let Draco kiss him again. Harry wanted to make certain that it was what he wanted before he got too involved. It wasn't for the lack of trying on Draco's part, though. He had apologised for being so forward the first weekend and kept his distance, but he didn't stop his flirting.

Harry and Draco had spent a lovely evening listening to a play on the wireless and before long they found themselves cuddled together on the sofa, laughing at the actor's awful fake accent. Harry turned to look at Draco at the exact same moment as Draco did the same. Their eyes met, and Draco leaned forward.

Before their lips touched, Harry asked quietly, “What about Malfoy?”

“He's an idiot,” Draco said. “He should have done this a long time ago.”

“Idiot,” Harry agreed, pushing his lips to Draco's.

~

The days after he and Draco had first had sex were some of the hardest days of Harry's working life. It had been an amazing night—Draco turned out to be, as Harry imagined, an amazing lover—and Harry couldn't stop smiling.

When he met Ron for lunch, he asked what was making him so happy, and Harry was quite annoyed that he couldn't tell his best friend. Malfoy, of course, picked up on it, teasing Harry about 'finally getting some'. Harry wanted to scream. He wanted to pick Malfoy up, kiss him and scream from the rooftops that, yes, he was 'getting some'.

And that was the problem. He couldn't tell anyone. Draco hadn't said that he couldn't shout it from the rooftops, but who the bloody hell would believe him? And Malfoy. Harry couldn't even imagine what he would feel about it.

Working with Malfoy after spending his nights with Draco was extremely difficult. He loved Draco, he knew that. He loved kissing him; he loved having sex with him. But, as Harry was beginning to realise, he also loved Malfoy. He loved spending time with Malfoy. He loved the nights where he told Draco not to come as he was joining Malfoy and the others in the pub. He loved working with Malfoy. He loved it when Malfoy made fun of his trousers or his messy eating habits.

One thing that Harry always made sure to do, even though it pained him, was to continue to call Malfoy by his surname. He'd almost tripped up a couple of times, and once he'd even leaned in to kiss Malfoy over the counter. Harry managed at the last second to come to his senses and grab a beaker to the left of Malfoy, but it shook Harry. He just wanted to be normal.

When Harry walked into the lab one morning after a particularly spectacular night with Draco, the sight of Malfoy's smile and cheerful 'Good morning' had Harry realising what had been niggling him for the past few weeks. The pit in his stomach, it was the most obvious thing in the world, now that he thought about it. He was feeling guilty.

Harry forced himself to return Malfoy's smile before running into the bathroom. He felt the need to throw up. Of course he should feel guilty, he berated himself. What the fuck was he doing, running about with some future man and probably ruining any chance he ever had with the man he—realising it to be the truth—actually wanted? How did he ever think that it was a good idea?

Washing his face, Harry tried to calm himself down. He needed to get through the day and then he needed to make everything right. He needed to talk to Draco and get his head straight. He wanted, more than anything, for everything to go back to the way things were before.

“Everything all right, Potter?” Malfoy asked through the bathroom door. “You ran in here pretty quick. Do you need a tonic or something?”

Opening the door, Harry smiled at his friend. “Don't be daft. I only needed the loo. Come on; we've got some healing to do.”

~

Harry decided to floo straight home after work, so he could get himself organised and work out exactly what he was going to say to Draco. He'd just finished making the tea—and putting out Draco's favourite chocolate digestives—when the kitchen door opened with a slam.

“Hi, honey; I'm home!”

“I knew showing you how to use the TV would be a mistake.”

Draco walked towards him and put his arms around him. Despite what he was about to say, Harry let him. He needed to feel Draco against him, especially if it was going to be the last time. As Draco moved in for a kiss, though, Harry pulled back.

“We need to talk.”

“No good ever followed those words, Harry,” Draco said cheerfully, before all colour left his face. “You're being serious. What's the matter? Tell me, Harry. What's up? Are you ill? Has something happened?”

“Shut up a bloody minute, please,” Harry said, rubbing his temples. “Sorry, I have a headache.”

“Do you need a tonic or something?”

Harry's head cleared as Draco unknowingly spoke the exact same words as Malfoy had. He knew what he was doing was the right thing. He had to try.

“I can't do this any more,” he said, looking straight into Draco's eyes. All day he'd been trying to figure out exactly what to say, and his bloody brain decided to just come out with it. Brilliant.

“Do what?”

“This. Us. You.” Harry dropped his gaze, unable to say the hardest words he'd ever said to his face. “I don't want you to come here any more.”

“What?” Draco rushed towards him, but Harry moved out of his reach. “Aren't you happy? What have I done? What can I do?”

“Nothing. You haven't done anything, and there's nothing you can do. This is something I _have_ to do.”

“Is there someone else?”

Harry almost laughed at that. “No. There is no one but you, Draco Malfoy.”

“I don't understand,” Draco said, tears shining in the corner of his eye.

“One day,” Harry said, “I hope you will.”

~

Harry didn't sleep much that night. He tossed and turned, wondering if he'd done the right thing. His gut instinct told him he had. He wanted to _try_ with Malfoy, he needed to. But, as he lay in his cold bed alone, Harry missed Draco terribly. The only thing that finally let him fall asleep was the thought that it might all be worth it, and Harry would get everything he ever wanted.

Bleary eyed, but determined, Harry arrived at work early, wanting to get there before Malfoy. Harry didn't know what he was going to say, or even if he was going to say anything that day, but he wanted to get in early to calm his nerves before Malfoy got in.

He was out of luck. Malfoy was already sitting at the counter, measuring and making notes on a chart. He looked like he'd been there for hours.

“Morning,” Harry said. “You're in early.”

“Huh, what?” Malfoy looked up at Harry. “Yes, sorry. Morning, Potter. I have to finish at three today, so I came in early to get my whole shift in. Most of the prep work is done. I'm about ready to go out on the ward. Are you all right with that?”

“Of course. Let me just put my bag away and grab a cuppa and I'll be right there. Do you want a cuppa?”

Malfoy nodded. “You look like shit, by the way. Big night?”

“Nah. Just needed a few thousand hours more sleep. Where are you off to today? If you don't mind me asking.”

“Not at all; it's no big secret.” Malfoy grinned. “I have a big date!”

Harry's stomach fell to the floor and he felt faint. What? _What?_

“Are you all right, Potter? Jealous?”

Harry forced himself to speak. “You wish. I was just wondering why you had to leave so early.”

“Ah, that's the exciting part,” Draco said. “It's in France.”

“What?”

“Mother organised it. She's been on at me for ages to 'find a respectable young wizard' and finally got tired of waiting, so she went ahead and organised a date with that French bloke that was at her tea party. Remember him?”

Harry did, unfortunately, remember him. Six foot of gorgeous with perfectly coiffed hair. Pierre? Pedro? Something beginning with a P anyway. Harry looked down at himself: not even close to six foot and hair that looked like it had never seen a brush. Fuck.

Harry spent the rest of the day in a daze. He was too late. He'd spent too long—literally—fucking around with Draco, and he'd lost his chance with Malfoy. Harry wanted to smack himself. He wished he had Draco's time travel whatever-it-was so he could go back and fix the whole big mess.

“Bye, Potter!” Malfoy called when the clock struck three. “Wish me luck!”

Harry could barely lift his hand for a wave. Luck? Bloody hell, the way the Frenchman had been looking at Malfoy during Narcissa's party, he definitely didn't need any luck.

~

Harry debated calling in sick the following morning. He hadn't slept well again, and the last thing he wanted to do was listen to Malfoy's tales of his night with Monsieur Nice Hair.

Brewin's incessant mewling finally got him out of bed—Harry didn't need to be scratched by a hungry cat on top of everything else—so he gathered all his courage and dragged himself to work. Besides, Harry remembered, Ron and Hermione were meeting them for a quick tea break to talk about Pansy's birthday party. He couldn't miss that. They'd have him in charge of something horrid if he wasn't there.

Thankfully, Harry arrived at work with only seconds to spare, and he barely managed a 'hello' before they were besieged by hapless assistants and more patients than he could count. It was ten o'clock before he had the chance to stop for a breather.

“All stable, tests running, not even Ross could screw up,” Malfoy said as he slumped against the wall beside Harry. “Shall we meet up with the gruesome twosome before anything else happens?”

“Don't call them that. It pleases Ron too much,” Harry said, smiling for the first time that morning. “Let's go.”

Hermione and Draco, party planners extraordinaire, had Pansy's birthday bash sorted before they'd even finished their first cuppa. Harry was extremely happy that he had shown up. He only had to sort out the catering. Blaise, the poor bastard, was tasked with the unappetising job of escorting Pansy's overbearing mother.

“So,” Hermione said, turning her attention fully to Malfoy, “I heard you had a big date last night? Tell us everything!”

Harry stood up, searching for a reason not to listen to Malfoy. “Um, we only have a bit of time before we have to be back. I'm getting another cuppa. Anyone want anything? Coffee? Tea? Cake? Biscuits?”

Ron shook his head—well, he did have a huge slice of battenburg in front of him—and Hermione held her cup out for a refill.

Malfoy scrunched his nose up. “Hmm, will you see if they have any chocolate digestives, please?”

“Sure,” Harry said. He'd barely made it two steps before he realised what Malfoy had asked for. Turning quickly, he knocked a chair over, causing the three still sitting to look at him in alarm.

“Harry?”

Ignoring Hermione, Harry focussed on Malfoy.

“Potter, what's the matter?”

“What did you ask for?”

“Biscuits.”

“Which biscuits? Exactly?”

“Chocolate digest—” Malfoy clapped a hand over his mouth, his eyes showing nothing but worry. “No, I mean...”

Harry stared at Malfoy, too shocked to speak. _Malfoy_ knew nothing about Muggle biscuits, especially not _those. Draco_ , on the other hand... Harry didn't—couldn't—say anything; he just started walking away.

“Shit. Potter. Harry! Wait! Harry!”

“'Mione, what's going on?”

“Draco, what's the matter? Harry?”

Harry ignored them all and walked straight out of the hospital.

~

Harry left the hospital and walked home in a daze. So many feelings battled inside him: embarrassment, confusion, hurt, _guilt_. He wasn't exactly sure on what the fuck had just happened. Did Malfoy _know_? Had Draco visited him as well? Or, Harry thought with horror, had Malfoy just been playing a joke on him all along?

Harry knew he shouldn't have left work. He was pretty sure that his patients would be fine. There were no tests planned for the afternoon and the assistants were more than capable of dishing out medicine and keeping an eye on the ward in general. Besides, Harry thought, he'd left Malfoy there.

That was another reason that Harry should've probably stayed. Maybe he'd blown everything out of proportion and should have let Malfoy explain. Perhaps Hermione had introduced him to chocolate bloody digestives. Harry almost turned back around and returned to find out, but instead walked on, wanting nothing more than to cuddle his cat and forget about everything.

Luckily, there was no one but Brewin there to greet Harry, so he scooped the little bundle of fur up in his arms, summoned a beer from the fridge and settled down on the sofa with the TV remote. There was nothing like daytime TV to distract yourself.

The opening bars to the _Neighbours_ theme tune roused Harry from his light sleep. Well, that and the crashing sound coming from his kitchen. Harry _really_ didn't want to face whoever was in there, but he had been a Gryffindor once upon a time. He just wished he still had the bloody sword.

Harry didn't quite know what to make of the man standing awkwardly in his kitchen. He was wearing the casual clothes he'd come to expect from Draco, but he was spectacle-less and he had the same worried look on his face that he'd seen on Malfoy's face in the cafeteria hours earlier.

“Who are you?”

“I suppose I deserve that,” whoever it was said.

“No, really,” Harry said, surprised at how calm he was, “which one are you?”

“Harry, I thought you figured it out, with the bloody biscuits.”

Well, that didn't really help Harry figure anything out. “What the fuck is going on? And tell me exactly so I don't misunderstand _anything_.”

“Can I sit?”

“When have you ever asked for permission before?” Harry sat down and gestured for him to do the same. “Yes, sit.”

“I'm Draco Malfoy.”

Harry moved to stand back up. If he didn't start making sense, Harry was going to strangle him.

“Harry, wait. Let me explain. I'm Draco.”

Harry sat back down and relaxed a bit. At least he was on common ground with Draco and his kitchen.

“And I'm Malfoy. There was never any time travel. It was just me.”

“So, this was just some big joke at my expense?”

“No!”

“You can't do that, Draco! You're playing with people's feelings. And what the fuck are you smiling at?”

“You called me Draco.”

“I always call you Draco.”

“No, you always call me Malfoy. Draco was different. It wasn't me, not really.”

“Are you having a fucking laugh? I had a fucking relationship with Draco. I slept with him. Oh, fuck.” Harry slumped as the realisation hit him. “I slept with you. I was in a relationship with you. I—”

Draco winced. “Yes, but—”

“No,” Harry said, shaking his head. It was too much. “I can't deal with this right now. I need to think; can you just leave?”

“Harry, I really think we need to talk.”

“I really think you need to leave me alone. And, please, don't just let yourself in again.” Harry walked out of the kitchen, not looking back, confidant that Draco would do as he asked.

~

Harry sent an owl to the hospital, requesting a couple of days absence. He was pretty certain they wouldn't turn him down as he hadn't missed a day of work all year and he wasn't the only person qualified to run the ward. It didn't matter, anyway. He wasn't going in and that was the end of it.

There was no way Harry could face going into work. Firstly, he wanted to avoid Draco. Harry still wasn't sure what had happened, and he definitely didn't know _why_ Draco had done it.

Secondly, Harry himself was a mess. He walked around in a daze, not knowing what to think. He felt physically and mentally drained. His mind cycled between embarrassed, confused and just outright hurt.

He had a lot to think about, so as soon as he received the reply from the hospital admin— _Sorry to hear you're unwell. Hope to see you back in work soon_ —Harry locked the front and back doors, blocked his floo and made sure all the windows were shut tight. He had some thinking to do, and the only being he could stomach facing had four legs and was huddled in a ball on the sofa.

~

Harry was well aware of the fact that he was hiding. Two days had passed and he hadn't seen a soul other than Brewin. Draco had followed Harry's instructions and hadn't turned up, unexpectedly or otherwise. Harry didn't know if Draco had tried to send him an owl, as he'd refused to open the window, not even when it was Hermione's owl tapping on the glass with his beak.

He had to decide what to do. As comfortable as his house was, Harry needed to get out. To do that, though, Harry knew, he'd have to face reality. The reality that he'd been having a secret relationship with one of his best friends and he hadn't even know about it.

Harry had to laugh at the irony of it all. He'd broken things off with Draco because he was feeling guilty about having a secret affair behind Malfoy's back, and all the time he'd been seeing them both. Harry just had to get his mind around the fact that they were the same person.

Harry loved Draco. He knew that for a fact. He didn't want to lose him, not as a friend. That was what had started all the horrible business in the first place. He thought he could've had it both ways, and now he'd lost everything. An old saying kept popping into head: If it's too good to be true, it probably is.

Harry did think about asking Draco to simply forget everything and try to get back to the way it had been before, but he couldn't do it. It was simple. He'd had a taste of Draco, and he wanted more.

There was one big question that kept Harry from opening the door. Yes, he loved Draco, but could he _forgive_ Draco? Harry couldn't find an answer without hearing from the man himself. There was only one way to find out. He was ready. He needed to talk to Draco.

Harry thought long and hard about what to write in his note to Draco, but in the end settled on one word: _Cuppa?_

His owl hadn't even returned from delivering his note, when Harry heard a knock at the front door.

“Hello, Draco.”

“Hello, Harry.”

Harry gestured for Draco to follow him into the kitchen, not sure what to say. Draco obviously had no such worries. They'd barely made it to the kitchen when Draco started rambling.

“I'm so glad you wrote. I've been so worried about you. And me, I suppose. I am so so sorry. So sorry.”

“Do you mean it?”

“What?”

“That you're sorry?”

“Of course! I wish I _could_ go back in time and stop myself being a dick.”

As Harry listened to Draco ramble on about how he'd been an idiot and how he wished he hadn't started it all and how he was so sorry, he realised that he didn't need to hear it. Harry _knew_. He knew Draco. He knew that he wasn't a bad person. He knew that he sometimes acted without thinking.

Harry also knew that it wasn't just Draco at fault. He had started it all, of course, but Harry had finished it. He'd fallen into bed with Draco; he hadn't been forced. He kept it a secret. He continued the charade.

“What was real, Draco?” Harry said, interrupting Draco's spiel.

“All of it, Harry. I promise you.”

“But you said...”

“I know, but I couldn't explain myself properly. I _am_ Draco, Harry. I'm the man who kissed your neck and and made you scream. I'm also your friend. The man you've worked with day in, day out. I'm real, Harry. I promise you.”

“Why did you do it? To embarrass me? To fuck with me? To fuck me?”

“No!” Draco looked aghast. “None of that. Fuck, is that what you think? No. I just didn't want to ruin our friendship. I thought—stupidly—it was a good idea, to see if you actually liked me. I _never_ expected it to go on for so long. Can you forgive me?”

Harry shrugged. He knew he should say—shout—yes, of course he bloody well forgave him, but he couldn't. Not yet.

Draco nodded. “Why did you?”

“What? Go along with it? Same, I suppose. I got to have you and not lose you as my friend. Why did you let it go on for so long?”

“Simple. I couldn't give you up. I didn't want to lose you if you found out. I always meant to go away after persuading you to ask me—the other me—out. I loved you.”

“What? _What?_ You loved me?”

“Yes, and I thought you loved me, too. And then you bloody well dumped me.”

“I dumped you for you.”

“What?”

“I realised I didn't want Draco. I wanted Malfoy.”

“Harry, they're the same person: me.”

“I didn't bloody know that, did I? And I did love you. _Do_ love you. Both of you.” Harry rubbed his temples. “Why didn't you just fucking ask me out, like a normal bloke?”

“Why didn't you ask me?”

That was the crux of everything. If they _both_ hadn't been so scared and _selfish_ , the whole mess could have been avoided.

“Right.” Harry stood up suddenly, having heard enough. “I'm putting the kettle on. Want one?”

Draco nodded and picked up his bag. “I bought biscuits.”

“Huh?”

“I thought I'd eaten enough of yours, so I went shopping.” Draco reached into his bag and took out a packet of Rich Tea. “They're your favourites, right?”

Harry nodded. He would have bet his house on Draco pulling out a pack of his beloved biscuits.

“Harry,” Draco said, holding the packet for Harry to take, “would you please go out with me?”

Harry reached into the cupboard and grabbed his last pack of chocolate digestives, swapping them for the Rich Tea in Draco's hand. “Only if you'll go out with me.”

Harry burst out laughing at the absurdity of it all.

“What?” Draco asked, already opening his biscuits.

“We're so stupid.”

“We deserve each other,” Draco added, stepping closer to Harry.

Harry pulled Draco to him. “You're an idiot. You should have done this a long time ago.”

“Agreed,” Draco said before kissing Harry, properly, for the first time.

The End.


End file.
